IMMORTAL MAN

PART II: the journey He leaves the town before the sun can find The dust in his seams. The road does not begin or end: It only stretches. A long, black thread stitching together empty spaces, He carries a pocket full of silver coins from empires that no longer have a name. They are cold against his thigh, useless metal, like the memories he cannot spend. A dog follows him for three miles. It does not bark. It only smells the salt of old centuries on his boots. He does not pet it. To touch a living thing is to start a clock, and he is done with ticking. At crossroads, he meets a girl pulling water from a well. She does not close her door. She is too young to remember the last time he walked this way. She offers him a cup. When his red right hand touches the clay, the water turns to ice. He looks into her eyes and sees the beginning of a story. He already knows the ending he turns away. The heavy coat catches the wind. Hades is waiting in the shadow of the hills. The earth cracks open just a fraction a whisper of smoke, quiet invitation. Not yet, the man thinks. Or perhaps, not ever. He keeps walking, A ghost who refused to find a grave, Leaving nothing behind but footprints That the rain will wash away by morning. BY:ZEAH ZITHRI/BJF